Aren't We All Walkers Here?
by pancake-potch
Summary: When we see them, they look like everyone else in this wasteland. Just two people, going about their survival business.
1. Chapter 1

When we see them, they look like everyone else in this wasteland. Just two people, going about their survival business. The dirt trail they follow between the trees isn't special in any way. It's like a thousand others that line the countryside. Here and there are pieces of _what was_ along their path. A single shoe. A set of house keys. A paper sack blowing out of their way. These two look at their feet, brows furrowed. This could be a sign that walkers are near. Or, It's a sign that the dead walking have left in search of better endeavors, no longer interested in anything around.

We know the seasons have shifted. The air inhaled in both of their lungs has grown cold. The leaves have only just begun to drop from their braches, creating a red and yellow carpet at our heroes' feet. It's time to don sweaters, maybe a hat. It _smells_ like autumn. She's in a grey sweater, and he has a denim jacket, accented by a pair of angel wings etched into a leather vest. These two, walking side by side have a code of their own. We don't know what it is. It's easy to see by the way they walk close to one another. Maybe by the way they tilt their heads when the other speaks tells us something, or maybe it's the way they swing their arms while walking, not paying any mind to how physically close their limbs get to one another tells us a different story all together.

These two people, a short-ish blonde girl, and a slightly taller, auburn -haired bowman pique our curiosity. Maybe these two people are safe? While we listen, they speak in hushed tones of someone named "Rick," and "Glenn."


	2. Chapter 2

As this duo walks, they both take in their surroundings, eyes peeled for threats that may come along. We do that too, don't we? Can never be too careful. But, today seems to be one of the few good days we're likely to encounter out here.

Now we can hear them speak, dropping in on a conversation already in progress, of things long gone, or maybe not so long gone.

"…the first time Glenn got kidnapped, " the man says, then glances at the woman for a reaction.

"First time? Wait, what?" She crinkles her nose and smiles, the disbelief is clear in her voice. "Like.._kidnapped_ kidnapped? Like before?" By the sounds of this story, this Glenn sounds like an unlucky bastard. Come to think of it though, there are things worse in this world where the dead wander around trying to convert the living into shuffling cannibals.

"I aint lyin'," he assures her, his eyes scanning the trees. "When we went to get Merle. Back in Atlanta. Some Mexican dudes took 'im, tried to trade this bag of guns we had for 'im."

For a second, it looks as though the woman may just stop right there in her tracks. She doesn't though. Instead, she directs all her attention to our storyteller, and waits for him to continue.

"And?"

He shrugs his shoulders, and it's obvious to us that he's pretending that what he's saying isn't all that interesting. But it is.

"Rick, " he says, as if it's clear. "You know Rick. He wasn't gonna give up them guns or leave Glenn. So we roll up on in there, just me, Rick, and T-Dog." He smirks, and considers the ridiculousness of the situation. There's also a hint of nostalgia in his voice, oddly enough.

"Just us three. Room full of these guys; ready to go, and Rick stares 'em down like Clint Eastwood, or somethin', " he sort of huffs out what sounds to be a half chuckle. " '_Locked and loaded_' he says." He stops walking then to pull the half smoked cigarette from behind his ear, and lights it. Wouldn't you agree that this is a deliberate act to draw out the tension of this story we're caught up in? She seems to notice that, too.

"_And?_"

"And nothin'. We was ready to take 'em all on. Turns out they were alright guys, just tryin' to defend their own. They were keepin all these old folks safe. Glenn was fine, too. All for show, ya know?" He takes one final drag off his cigarette, and pitches on the ground.

The woman rolls her eyes, and looks at him sideways. If we knew them better, we'd know that this is pretty typical. He looks back at her, and shrugs again.

"What?"

"I can't believe that happened to Glenn. _Twice_." She smiles up at him.

"Ya, well, who'd a thought the apocalypse would create such a demand for Asian men?" he says, while nudging her with his elbow.

Following these two, we know they make a good team. Although the _actual_ time of day isn't knowable, we can tell it's getting to be around dinnertime. Er, well, maybe in the Old Days. Now? Well, now it's time to make camp, if you're like most of us who end up on the road. I don't know about you, but this apocalypse has the feeling of all us survivors being like Dust Bowl Oakies, making their way to California. Except, California is probably like everywhere else nowadays.

Watching them make their camp, they have a routine. The man strings up a bungee cord/ can alarm system, while the woman begins a small fire. He sits down next to her, and pulls out a canned something for them both. They take turns eating out of it, something we all know about. She sighs and inches her way next to the man, and leans into him.

It's hard to pinpoint who these two are and who they are to each other. By the way he glances down at her briefly, only briefly, it might be reasonable to say he's wondering the same thing we are.


	3. Chapter 3

"To get the full value of joy you must have someone to share it with."- Mark Twain

As dawn breaks, and meager rations are split, it's time to head out. Isn't that tiring to hear? _Head out_. Before The Turn, _heading out_ meant an adventure, right? Maybe camping for fun, or climbing back into a hot car in the summer onto the next destination. The Turn's made us pack our bags, holster our weapons and _head out_ for whatever lies ahead. Hopefully safety, maybe a place or two for the night. Or, maybe getting eaten alive?

Our heroes shoulder their packs and do the same. This day, the trail they follow grows wider, and turns more into a wide dirt road. Walking, the dirt road turns to gravel, and eventually asphalt. We know what that means. Civilization. Maybe a town.

Instead of following this road, the pair simply crosses it, but not before the woman stops mid stride to pick something up off the ground. She pinches the binding gingerly, and shakes the debris off of it, before rolling it up in her hands. Although her movements are quick, the man registers what she has.

"Whatcha want that for?" His face flinches back while he squints at her.

"Well, Daryl, I was hopin' to read about Miss June's hobbies, " she says while unrolling it to examine it better. "And, all about this 'Busty Brunette's Hidden Pleasure Zones."

"Pfft, " Daryl says, while rolling his eyes. "I hope _Miss June_ has her top on before wanderin around getting eatin'" He then sorta sidesteps around her, placing distance between them so she can't register his embarrassment at the implication of what he just said.

She rolls her eyes, and declares her discovery a source of kindling.

This wasteland has made it so we can't make it alone. Aside from "safety in numbers, " it's more like, nobody can make it without someone to stand astride with them, right? To take in, not just the horrors, or the goodness, but maybe just the _emptiness_ of it all. We can do that all on our own, and _we have._ This world has turned to something we all thought about at one time or another. "What would happen if something like _The Stand_ were true," we'd say, "or maybe _The Road_?" Unfortunately, it's not like that at all. What do we do now that the dead return to inflict their suffering and need upon the living?

Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.

And they do, and we do.

The house they see in the distance is promising. Tucked away from the main road, but close enough to run if need be (and we always need to, don't we?).

Daryl and his golden haired companion approach cautiously, him with his bow poised facing the inside, while she faces outside, knife at the ready. Entering, our duo face a nice home covered in a thick layer of dust. The kitchen cabinets already swung open, furniture knocked over.

But, what is promising is a door in the kitchen that leads not outside, but to what appears to be a basement. They repeat their movements, and continue down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, the only light available penetrates a worn door that leads outside. We can see tomatoes set to dry down here, but they've dried to the point of raisins, almost. Using the sliver of light, Daryl and his companion look around.

"Nice, " Daryl says. "Beth, look!"

Our Beth turns to look where he is, and she lets out a gasp, and we do, too. Isn't this what we're waiting for?

A green bookshelf, leaning to the right holds canned food, blankets, and a first aid kit in a green Army looking bag. Beth's slender fingers run over the spoils.

"Daryl!" She smiles at him, "There's 'astronaut ice cream!"


	4. Chapter 4

**First! Thank you guys so much! Thanks to Saffia and jazznsmoke for reviewing. And thanks to those favoring! I'm not a writer by trade, but I just love TWD and Beth/Daryl so much, I had to throw my hat into the ring. **

**It took me a bit to finish this chapter because I was too busy fangirling over the fact jazzy liked it! If you haven't read her stuff, **_**do it now**_**.**

**Also: I don't own TWD, because if I did, I wouldn't be driving a six-year-old Subaru.**

"Things are never quite as scary when you've got a best friend."-Bill Watterson

Beth grabs the packet, and smiles to herself, eyes wide. Daryl looks down at her, confused.

"You know," she says. "Freeze-dried ice cream. The kind the astronauts used ta take into space with them. We got 'em when we went to the science museum gift shop."

Daryl doesn't say anything while he continues to stare at her. That look- is it admiration, wonder maybe? This man appears to be a hardened warrior, so what's with the softness in his face, his eyes?

Oh, wait. _Wait a minute_. We _know_ this look. It's not something we get too much of these days, huh? But, when it's there, it's _there_.

If we didn't know any better we'd say that this Daryl is in love with Beth.

Since The Turn, kinship, friendship, bonds, family, consanguinity, companionship all means the same thing. Lines began to blur once the world became stripped of all its extraneous societal norms and expectations. Christ, the world has all but stopped, right? For us, anyway. Sure, it rotates around the sun and all that, and nature carries on, but us? We're stripped down, too. Thinking about it, this wasteland can either change us (for the good or for the bad) or solidify who we really are. Scrambling around trying to hold on to what _once was_ really wears on a body. White-knuckled survival will do that to you.

That's why there's no more time for bullshit or funny business. That is why Daryl should tell this girl how he feels, because who knows how much longer any of us got. And, it's obvious, isn't it? She doesn't know.

Daryl clears his throat. "C'mon. Let's get this back upstairs."

We watch them gather their spoils and ascend the dusty stairs, him leading. Pausing in the kitchen, they take in the remnants of a nice home. Clearly, there's nothing left except for kicked up dust swirling in the air. And it's so _quiet._

They both peer through the kitchen into the dining room, which leads to the living room. Daryl grimaces, and Beth squints.

"Can we just pack this stuff up and go outside? There aint nothing here." She asks, beginning to unload the stuff in her arms onto the dirty kitchen table.

"Yeah, " he says, doing the same.

She unpacks the black pack to rearrange what's inside to fit more in in. Shoving aside stacks of cash, the dirty magazine, and the handful of jewelry she manages to shove the first aid kit in, too, but otherwise there isn't much room left. Daryl glances around at the open drawers and cabinets and picks up a canvas grocery bag. You know the kind. The ones we brought to grocery store in order to save the environment. The canned food goes in, with the blankets topping it. He shoulders it, grabs his crossbow and leads the way outside.

They step into the brisk afternoon, both simultaneously inhaling the clean air.

"Walker," Daryl sighs. He sets the bag down, takes a few steps and picks off the walker easily and without fanfare. He retrieves the bolt, and wipes it on his pants as he turns around to find Beth sitting on the front steps, foil package dangling between her legs.

The new normal, eh? It'd be pretty goddamn ridiculous if it weren't, you know, _true._

As he sits next to her, she tears the foil and pulls out a dried ice cream sandwich that she breaks in half. She hands him one half, and they eat together in silence. Truth of the matter is we can suspect that she has feelings for him, too. Look at the way she glances sideways at him while he looks at the trees in front of him. These two have clearly been together awhile. How long, exactly? And how long have they been dancing around each other like this?

It's hard not to take them, shake them by the shoulders and yell, "LOOK! Face each other and say what you feel!" We're not that bold, though. Plus, there's the feeling that a bolt in the eye would put a damper on the day.

"Wanna stay here?" She asks, wiping the remnants of food on her jeans.

"Nah, plenty of daylight left, best keep moving." She nods her head.

"Where we going, exactly?" He shrugs and looks down at her. "Well, keep to the woods, I guess."

"Yeah, but to _where_?" She looks so completely exasperated. We feel it, too. It's good to have a goal, a destination.

"Just trust me, Greene." He tells her, not looking at her. "Less likely to come across bad folks if we keep to the woods."

Beth sighs. "I know that. And I do trust you, Dixon." She playfully bumps her knee into his before smiling up at him.

Jesus. These two got it bad.

"Saddle up, then. We're burning daylight." He gathers up the bag and his crossbow and stands up. He reaches down for her hand, and helps her up. They cling to each other just a beat too long before he almost brusquely snatches his hand back.

"You know," Beth says as she takes lead, "we'll find someplace to hunker down for awhile. Somewhere. I got a feelin'." He grunts at her, and its hard to say if he agrees or not.

So, we follow them back into the expanse of trees. Dixon and Greene, apocalypse ass-kicking team.


	5. Chapter 5

**Once again, a special thanks to those taking the time out to review, favorite, and follow! My heart belongs to jazznsmoke and to texasbelle91. Both are **_**amazing,**_** and if ya'll like Beth/Rick or Beth/Merle, I highly recommend these talented writers. Also: thanks to daneruhl, Joise, and guiltlessgleek for their wonderful reviews! **

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."-Anais Nin

It's all about balance. Light and dark, comedy and tragedy, good and evil, 'the white hat and the black hat,' as Ray Bradbury would say. Beth and Daryl are a physical manifestation of balance, aren't they? Petite, golden-haired Beth and tall, brooding auburn haired Daryl. The thing about this balanced pair is that they seem to be equals. Ok, maybe they aren't equals in a physical sense, but equals nonetheless. You can just _watch_ them, and it's been a couple days, so we get they operate.

It's like they're two pieces from different puzzles, yet they fit together seamlessly.

Now, on foot through endless forest, she holds his bow poised to take a shot at an unsuspecting squirrel. He looks at her expectantly, and as if she could see him, she pulls the trigger that impales dinner.

"Daryl!" She's so pleased as she looks over her shoulder at him, smiling. And, admittedly, she's quite pretty when she smiles, isn't she? Looks like Daryl thinks that too, according to the blush on his cheeks. Ah, but she doesn't even notice because she all but flings his bow at him (well, the best she can, anyway. Those things are _heavy._) and runs to her kill. She pulls the bolt out and proudly shows him. Beth Greene, mighty hunter.

"Told ya, girl." There might be smile, there. "C'mon, then let's get set up. Cook that up. It's gonna rain soon." He waves his arm at her to follow, and she does, and so do we.

Setting up camp, Beth makes a makeshift shelter with a half of a tarp they scavenged and some sticks. It isn't the best, but it'll do. Leaning against the tree, squirrel split between them, they almost look _cozy_. This companionable silence between these two makes us let our guards down. Our heroes have clearly built _this _up. They seem so different, yet it's the obvious teamwork between them that has made them able to strike this balance of making a life and surviving in this zombie filled End Time.

And so, feet stretched in front of them, they gaze up at the sky as rain begins to fall. She pulls her feet in closer to her and under the tarp to keep her boots dry. We know how uncomfortable it is trudging around in our wet worn out shoes and even more worn out socks. Because, son of a bitch, you _do not_ need a case of athletes foot while running for your life.

"You know any jokes?" She asks him, breaking the silence.

"Musta left my standup routine at home."

"I got one, " she looks at him with a glint in her eye, smile on her face. "What's long and hard and filled with cum?"

"Jesus Beth! Wha-" He flinches, his body readied to scoot in the opposite direction of her. But before he can finish, she says, "A cu_cum_ber! Get it?"

That is pretty funny.

He shifts himself back to where he was, and gives her a look that she is the most bewildering thing he's ever seen. "Where did you hear that? Didn't take you for the kinda girl that'd know a joke like that."

"From Shawn. I overheard him and his friends. I didn't get it, so I told it to Daddy. You'da thought I just yelled every single curse word in front of our congregation, by the look on his face. Shawn got an hour long lecture after that." She sighs and looks over at him. "You gotta know _some_ jokes. Everybody does."

"Nah ah. Not for the likes of you. Not corrupting little Bethy Greene with dirty thoughts." He pauses, with a look on his face that can only be described as sheer embarrassment. "Merle, though. Man, he knew some that'd make the biggest whore in Georgia blush."

"Like what?"

"I aint tellin' you."

"Fine. Ok, I got another one. What do toys and boobs have-"

"Beth! I aint hearin' it" Daryl interrupts. She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. It's too bad. We're kind of wondering what the rest of it was, huh? Looks like she's enjoying watching him squirm. This badass dude getting uncomfortable makes for an amusing sight.

"Get some sleep, " he mumbles. "I'll take first watch."

Beth huffs. "Yeah, ok." She curls up on her side, facing out of the shelter, the top of her head touching Daryl's thigh. A moment goes by and we can see him hesitantly place a hand on her shoulder. He doesn't look at her, but instead at the outside world. Or, what's left of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'd like to start with a hearty handshake to those who followed and faved! Special thanks to Saffia, Briony, and Joise for their reviews. And of course, my fic writing baes Jazzy and Texasbelle.**

There's no present. There's only the immediate future and the recent past.- George Carlin.

And it rained. _For days_. Unrelenting rain. The kind just soaks the very core of you. The kind that seeps into your clothes, and your hair, and your shoes. It's all so goddamn _wet_. The kind of wet where you think you'll never get dry again. The rain makes the ground soggy and hard to move quietly in. The heaviness of the mud weighs on us and our shoes.

Following these two, we're beginning to get desperate. Sure, shelter was found the day before last, but that was in the form of an outhouse next to the charred remains of a house. These are some desperate times, _really _desperate times which is why they both stop and consider it. He flings the door open, and yep-it looks just like the inside of an outhouse. He looks over to her to get her reaction. She just cocks her head, a silent gesture to keep moving.

Following behind, they move in unison despite the difference in size. There's no rhyme or reason for the direction they pick, it seems. They just follow one another's lead. And despite their aimlessness, and despite the constant drizzle, neither seems hunched over in defeat. Matter of fact, Beth actually _smiles_ at him occasionally. She's got grit, no doubt about it.

A short wooden fence that once marked the edge of someone's property comes into view. Looks like she picked the right direction. They scan the property line before climbing over, their heavy boots leaving a trail in the long wet grass. We're looking for anything that might be of use to us. House, barn, shed, hell-maybe this time an outhouse wouldn't be _that_ bad. That's when they both see an old VW bus, parked in a sparse circle of trees. They make their way towards it, and their footsteps grow faster when they realize they windows and doors are intact. Its tires are flat, and the paint has long since faded.

Weapons at the ready, they look around them. Daryl then takes a tentative step forward, and pries open the side door, ready for anything. Nothing scary leaps out at them, except a musty mildew smell that slightly overwhelms the other layers of stench. Decay and fucking patchouli.

Beth looks over his shoulder for a better view of what's inside. If she's offended by what's in there she doesn't show it. Looking in, there are two naked, very dead, dried bodies lying where a row of seats once was. A hole in the woman's forehead, and the gun still lodged in the man's mouth sums up the story right there.

"That's gross. It's kinda romantic, but…gross." She says contemplatively.

Raising an eyebrow at her he says, "You're a strange girl, Greene."

She just shrugs at him, and goes to pry the gun out of the man's mouth. Checking the chamber, it's empty, so she just tosses it aside. Romance in the New World. Ensure you have a round for yourself and one for your loved one. Poetic, don't you think?

They unceremoniously drag the dead out, leaving them beyond the trees and settle into the bus. They strip off shoes and outer layers and wring out socks, draping them over the driver's seat to dry. The door is still open, and there are sighs of contentment. It may smell like old, dead hippy in here, but at least it's _dry. _No need to worry about the blood stains on the floor; there isn't nothing in this wasteland that hasn't had bloodied in some way.

Our companions sit opposite each other, with him facing the door.

"Daryl?"

"Hmm?" He doesn't look at her as he uses a red rag to wipe down his weapons.

"I-I been thinking. I mean, I _know_ the others got out. They _had _to." He pauses and looks at her. He seems to be waiting for some other shoe to drop, or maybe they've had this conversation before. We know all about what she's talking about. _Others_. Our _others_, your _others_, Beth and Daryl's _others._ Sometimes we know the fate of those we were with, and sometimes not. That's just how it is now.

"I guess…I guess I know we may never see them again. I have to think Maggie and Glenn, Carl, Rick…are alive out there somewhere. But, um…I think it'll be all right if it's just, ya know, me 'n you. We got this. Together." Reading into what she says, her voice tells us this declaration is more than an accepting of circumstances. It sounds more like a validation of her faith in him-and her together.

They look at each other, and she smiles. "You wouldn't make it long without me anyways, Dixon."

"That so?" She may be joking, but she's right. We know this, not by his choice of words, but the heaviness in his voice. "Coupla bad asses, huh?" He continues, "You're not going nowhere, as long as I'm here."

"And you aint going nowhere without me." She brightens, and she's cut through the weightiness the conversation again. This time he gives her a half smile, sealing a deal we assumed was already in place, but apparently now just vocally confirmed.

Settling in, Beth switches to Daryl's side in order to more easily share a can of chili. There's no more talk, and it's actually kinda nice. Watching the rain fall outside, thinking our thoughts. It doesn't really smell that bad in here anymore, anyways.


	7. Chapter 7

**Usual thanks to those in the know! Next chapter will probably be the last, so thanks for hanging out here with me. This was really hard to write, so forgive any change in voice or whatever. Also, I had to add a few obvious lines from the show. Anyway, here ya guys go!**

"If you know the enemy and know yourself you need not fear the results of a hundred battles."- Sun Tzu

We stay hunkered down in that bus for two days. And, yes. It rained. The second day, it tapered off enough for Daryl to take Beth hunting in the morning. He spots a set of tracks, looks at her and now she is able to see what he sees more clearly. She takes the shot, and now it's rabbit for breakfast. After eating, we sit down with them inside.

It's strange to think about the inside of a bus being _home_. But when you think about it, _home_ is really where the people you love are. The inside of a van, a makeshift camp in the woods, an abandoned house in the outskirts of a town. What we hold dear these days are drastically different than Before. Everything, _everything _that we thought important no longer applies. Car payment? Mortgage? Cuts of fish for dinner? Done. Gone. No one can make it alone now. Guess we never could.

So as Daryl keeps watch as Beth pees behind a tree, we can see the panic in his face as she hastily pulls her pants up and yells his name. Crossbow poised, he takes aim at a walker. But, as he pulls the trigger, more appear behind it. Too godamn many. It's a herd.

_RUN._

They run, we run. Sooner or later…we always run.

We see him grab her hand and yank it, but there's no need. She right behind him, keeping his pace. They simultaneously glance behind them, and they're still coming.

Our feet trample the leaf strewn forest floor, trying to mind not just the walkers behind us but any obstacles at our feet. Concentrate. It's just one foot in front of the other, just like we've all been doing our whole lives-except now a stumble could lead to death, or a second life where you're not alive. Mind the trees, mind the branches, mind the rotted logs. Look for something. Look for _anything _to shut ourselves in.

Luck has run out. Whatever direction that led us to the temporary sanctuary before is now just trees. Just fucking trees, no building, no _anything _in sight_. Just run_. Run 'till our lungs burn and our legs ache. Isn't the first or the last time. Our heroes know it and we know it. We can do it because we _have_ to do it. Every ounce of our being is pushing us now.

Guess if it's our time, or Beth and Daryl's time, it's certainly not for lack of fucking trying. Trying like hell.

_And, sweet Jesus_. Having a little faith to keep us moving may have just now saved our asses. Running right behind, we watch Daryl almost fall into a rectangular concrete pool filled with water. Rows of pools line a concrete drive underneath netting. Looking around, there are stone buildings surrounding them. Beth leads the way to the closest building, and tries for the door. Luckily for us, it pushes open. They don't even bother checking to see if it's safe, they just turn around and bar the door the best they can. In the faint sunlight through the windows, a sign tells us _Georgia Department of Natural Resources Welcomes You to Richmond Hill Fish Hatchery! _

They glance at each other, and she smiles. The relief we all feel is palpable. Rows of empty tanks fill the room, and it kinda smells like fish food, but who cares? Daryl and Beth slump against the door, catching their breath.

After a few minutes of huffing and stretching, there's a strange noise. It's Beth _laughing._ Daryl leans back to take a better look at her, probably to make sure he's hearing right.

"Sorry, " she says. "It's just…thank God, ya know?" She still is wearing that ridiculous smile. We almost were done for, and this girl…this girl of infinite hope and love just looks at him as if everything is gonna be ok. If Daryl didn't do what we think he may do, we sure will. He grabs her hand, and intertwines his fingers in hers. He's looking at her as he rests his head against the door.

It's probably a good time to clear the rest of the building, but right now what's best is to just say thanks. Say thanks for the luck we've been given, and thanks for the people we're with.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ahh! It's the end! Thank you guys for taking time out of your lives to read this. I really wanted to finish this before S5, so it's a little rushed. Kisses to jazz and texasbelle. A special thanks to the reviewer who noted that the quotes don't really add to the story. To be fair, I use those as a mental tone. **_**BUT**_**, I like criticism, so I'll begin with one of my favorite quotes in the entirety of TWD series that doesn't really apply here, but I think we all can agree on its greatness.**

"There's walkers in the barn and Lori's pregnant"- Glenn Rhee

Sitting here, backs against the door, it really doesn't feel that abnormal. It's a feeling of accomplishment. Once again, we've held our own. _We made it._ Add another notch on the bedpost of days survived, because holy hell- it did _not _look good. Situations like these shouldn't make us angry or despondent for the most part. Sure, honestly speaking here (and we can't be anything but honest these days) it _is _terrifying and it _is_ exhausting; and if we weren't stronger… maybe being naked in a bus with a gun in your mouth sounds appealing. But now, right here in this dusty stone building that smells of old fish- living another day gives us relief. A sense that if we keep trying, if we keep going we'll find what we're looking for. Maybe that's safety, maybe it's sanctuary, maybe it's the people we were once separated from.

Perhaps, instead of just relief, we find things we weren't even looking for in the first place. Friendships that may not have formed before now…_love_ we may have never found unless circumstance threw us together. The lives we led restricted us, but now? It just…it just doesn't matter anymore.

Watching Beth and Daryl, the tension is palpable. As he's staring at her, hands together, she stops laughing and takes a breath. She clenches his hand tighter to hers, and her smile falters a bit. There's a faint, distant sound of walker moans, but other than that, it's quiet. She scoots over to face him directly as she covers his hand with her free one.

And as we watch, maybe now, _now _they can face what has long been simmering between them. It's like a damn romance novel, right? Life and death situations bring out our true feelings. As they look at one another, they lean in and-

"We, uh, need to clear this," Daryl says, clearing his throat.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He just stands up with Beth's hand in his, and pulls her up. He releases her, moving to a wooden staircase. He takes lead as they go up. It's just an office area; whiteboard still visible that directed which tech had which job for the day. They find a room that looks like a game room. There's a Ping-Pong table and a dartboard. Beth notices a microwave on a countertop and gathers packets of hot chocolate that were strewn about.

Nodding to him, they go back to the office and notice another door. Daryl flings it open, and it's a balcony. Below them there are more rectangular pools, and a steady stream of walkers. The walkers seem to avoid the pools of stagnant water, but every now and then one will fall in and get trapped. You ever seen a walker stuck in a glorified kiddie pool? It's just as ridiculous as it sounds. Look, you got to find humor in this wasteland, or you're at risk of becoming half dead yourself.

So we follow as they wander back downstairs and take their places against the door again. Now what do we do? Just sit and wait. We've heard this before from soldiers coming back from the frontlines. Most of your time is just waiting…with a few minutes of intense, paralyzing fear thrown in here and there.

Guess while we're waiting, we might as well get comfy. Daryl and Beth do the same, stretching their legs in front of them, both resting their heads against the door. Beth sighs, and reaches for a pamphlet next to her on the floor. She unfolds it to see pictures of men in state uniforms smiling next to kids holding up fish they caught. She puts it back down, and we can tell she's kind of antsy. Maybe wanting to _do _something or _say_ something.

Sitting back again, she looks at him. Without saying a word, she brings her legs in to sit crossed legged while turning to him. It doesn't look like he notices her movements at all…until she reaches forhis hand. She clasps it, and pulls it into her lap. She _definitely_ has his attention now.

She's not looking at him. Her brows are furrowed, and it looks like she's thinking something important. "Daryl," she says in an uncertain tone. Daryl looks at her, and it's hard to tell if he's breathing or not. He's so still and unmoving.

Beth sighs, and her eyes meet his. She braces herself against the floor with her free hand. As she is leaning into him, this guy is _still_ not moving. And Christ, it isn't until her face is an inch away from his do we actually hear him breathe in. But his intake of breath is cut short when her lips meet his. The way her face kind of scrunches up tells us this is an act propelled by sheer determination and bravery.

And what is this guy _doing_? Jesus. He's like a statue. This beautiful girl is _kissing _him, and all he can do, apparently is just fucking _sit_ there. Beth registers that too, and begins to pull away. But the second she starts to pull back, his hand tentatively rests on her cheek…and now the back of her neck…and, ok so, uh, he's grabbing her hair and pulling her into his lap

And that is our sign that it's time to head out now. We're not goddamn perverts, or anything. Time to leave these two be. Our heroes have showed us that there is love and friendship and safety and hope in whatever is left in this world. We just have to hold on.


End file.
